Black Ice: Twilight Style
by FAXalltheway
Summary: When Bella decides to go backpacking, she is surprised when her ex- boyfriend, who she still loves, is going with her, but before she can explore her feelings for him, her and her best friend get stuck in a blizzard and are forced to find shelter in a cabin with two guys. What happens when those guys turn out to be different than Bella first thought? ExB! Kinda scary
1. Chapter 1

**So this story isn't mine and neither are the characters! This amazing story belongs to Becca Fiztpatrick (Author of the Hush, Hush Saga) and these wonderful characters belong to the great Stephanie Meyer. This story may not be mine, but I would still like reviews telling me that you like it and want me to keep writing. I want three reviews before I write the next chapter, please and thank you**

**Hope you like it**

**April**

The rusted Chevy pickup truck clanked to a stop, and when Alice Cullen's head thumped the passenger seat window, it jolted her awake.

She managed a few groggy blinks. Her head felt strewn with broken memories, shattered fragments that, if she could just piece them together, would form something whole. A window back to earlier in the night. Right now, the window lay in pieces inside her throbbing head.

She remembered the cacophony of country music, raucous laughter, and NBA highlights on the overhead TVs. Dim lighting, shelves displaying dozen of glass bottle glowing green, amber, and black.

Black.

She'd asked for a drink from that bottle, because it made her dizzy in a good way. A steady hand had poured the liquor into her glass a moment before she'd thrown it back.

"Another one," she'd rasped, plonking the empty glass down on the bar.

She's remembered swaying on the cowboy's hip, slow dancing. She stole his cowboy hat; it looked better on her. A black Stetson to match her itsy-bitsy black dress, her black drink, and her foul black mood—which mercifully, was hard to hang on to in a tacky dive like this, a rare gem of a bar in the noses-up, la-di-da world of Jackson Hole, Wyoming, where she was vacationing with her family. She'd sneaked out and her parents would never find her here. The thought was a bright light on the horizon. Soon she's be so tipsy, she wouldn't remember what they looked like. Already their judgmental frowns streaked in her memory, like wet pain running down a canvas.

Paint. Color. Art. She'd tried to escape there, to a world of splattered jeans and stained fingers and soul enlightenment, but they had yanked her back, shut her down. They didn't want a free spirited artist in their family. They wanted a daughter with a diploma from Stanford.

If they would just love _her. _Then she wouldn't wear tight, cheap dresses that infuriated her mother or throw her passion into causes that offended her father's egoism and stiff, aristocratic morals.

She almost wished her mother was here to see her dancing, see her slinking down the cowboys leg. Grinding hip-to-hip. Murmuring the wickedest things she could think of in to his ear. They only paused dancing when he went to the bar to get her a fresh drink. She could have sworn it tasted different from the others. Or maybe she was so drunk, she imagined the bitter taste.

He asked if she wanted to go somewhere private. Alice only debated a moment. If her mother would disapprove then the answer was obvious.

The Chevy's passenger door opened and Alice's vision stopped seesawing long enough to focus on the cowboy. For the first time, she noticed a distinct crook in the bridge of his nose, probably a trophy from a bar fight. Knowing he had a hot temper should have made her want him more, but oddly, she found herself wishing she could find a man who exercised restraint instead of reverting to childish out bursts. It was the sort of civilized thing her mother would say. Inwardly lashing herself, Alice blamed her irritatingly sensible attitude on tiredness. She needed sleep. Stat.

The cowboy lifted the Stetson off of her head and returned it to his own crop of shaggy blond hair.

"Finders keepers" she wanted to protest, but she couldn't get her mouth around the words.

He lifted her off the seat and balanced her over his shoulder. The back of her dress was riding up, but she couldn't seem to command her hands to tug it down. Her head felt as heavy and fragile as one of her mother's crystal vases. Bewilderingly, the very moment after she thought that, her head miraculously lightened and seemed to float away from her body. She couldn't remember how she'd gotten here. Had they driven in the truck?

Alice stared down at the heels of the cowboy's boots tracking through muddy snow. Her body bounced with every step, and it was making her stomach swim. Bitterly cold air, mixed with the sharp smell of pine trees, burned the inside of her nose. A porch swing creaked on its chain and wind chimes made soft, tinkling music in the darkness. The sound made her sigh. It made her shudder.

Alice heard the cowboy unlock a door. She tried to pry her eyelids open long enough to get a dim sense of her surroundings. She would have to call her brother in the morning and ask him to come get her. Assuming she could give him directions, she thought ironically. Her brother would drive her back to the lodge, scolding her for being careless and self-destructive, but he'd come. He always did.

The cowboy set her on her feet, grasping her shoulders to balance her. Alice glanced sluggishly around. A cabin. He'd brought her into a log cabin. The den they stood in had rustic pine furniture, the kind that looked tacky everywhere but in a cabin. An open door on the far side of the den led to a small storage room with plastic shelving along the walls. The storage room was empty, except for a perplexing pole that ran from the floor to the ceiling, and a camera on a tripod was positioned to face the pole.

Even through her haze, fear gripped Alice in a vise. She had to get out of here. Something bad was going to happen.

But her feet wouldn't move.

The cowboy back her against the pole. The moment he let go, Alice sagged to the floor. Her stilettos twisted off as her ankles slid out from under her. She was too drunk to scramble back to her feet. Her mind whirled, and she blinked frantically, trying to find the door leading out of the storage room. The more she tried to concentrate, the faster the room spun. Her stomach heaved and she lurched sideways to keep the mess off of her clothes.

"You left this at the bar," the cowboy said, dropping her cardinals hat on her head. The hat had been a gift from her brother after she had been accepted to Stanford a few weeks ago. The gift had arrived suspiciously soon after she'd announced she was going to Stanford—or any college. Her dad had turned so red, so stopped of breath, she was positive steam would blow from his ears like a cartoon caricature.

The cowboy lifted the gold chain hanging around her neck clear of her head, his rough knuckles scraping her cheek.

"Valuable?" he asked her, examining the heart-shaped locket closely.

"Mine," she said, suddenly very defensive. He could take back his smelly Stetson, but the locket belonged to her. Her parents had given it to her the night of her first ballet recital, twelve years ago. It was the first and only time they had approved of anything she's initiated. It was the one reminder she had that deep down, they must love her. Outside of her ballet, her childhood had been governed, pushed, and molded by their vision.

Two years ago, at sixteen her own vision had raged to life. Art, theatre, indie bands, edgy, unscripted modern dance, rallied with political activist and intellectuals (not dropouts!) who'd left college to pre pursue alternative education, and a boyfriend with a brilliant tortured mind who smoked weed and scribbled poetry on church walls, park benches, and her own hungry soul.

Her parents had made the distaste for her new lifestyle clear. They responded with curfews and rules, tightened their walls of confinement, and squeezed life's breath from her. Defiance was the only way she knew to fight back. She'd wept behind closed doors when she quit ballet, but she had to hurt them back. They didn't get to pick and choose pieces of her love. Either she was theirs unconditionally, or they had lost her completely. That was her deal. At eighteen, her resolve was steel-like.

"Mine" she repeated. It took all her concentration to push the word out. She had to get her locket back, and she had to get out of here. She knew it. But a strange sensation had stolen her body, it was as if she were watching things happen with feeling emotion.

The cowboys hung her locket on the doorknob. His hands free, he loped scratchy rope around her wrists. Alice winced when he jerked on the knot. He couldn't do this to her, she thought detached. She'd agreed to come with him, but she hadn't agreed to do this.

"Let—me go," she slurred, a sloppy, unconvincing demand that made her cheeks burn with humiliation. She loved language, each word tucked inside her mouth, beautiful and bright, carefully chosen, empowering: she wanted to pull those words from her pocket now, but when she reached deep, she found snipped tread, a hole. The words had tumbled from her muddled head.

She threw her shoulders forward uselessly. He'd tied her to the pole. How would she get her locket back? The thought of losing it made panic scratch inside her chest. If only her brother had returned her call. She'd left a message about going drinking tonight, as a test. She tested him constantly—almost every weekend—but this was the first time he had ignored her call. She'd wanted to know that he cared enough about her to stop her from doing something stupid.

Had he finally given up on her?

The cowboy was leaving. At the door he tipped the black Stetson up, his blue eyes smug and greedy. Alice realized the enormity of her mistake. He didn't even _like _her. Would he blackmail her with compromising photos? Was that the reason for the camera? He must know her parents would pay the price for them.

"I've got a surprise waiting for you in the toolshed around back," he drawled, "don't go anywhere, you hear?"

Her breath came fast and erratically. She wanted to tell him what she thought of his surprise. But her eyelids drooped lower, and each time, it took longer to snap them open. She started crying.

She'd been drunk before, but never like this. He'd given her a drug. He must have slipped it in her drink. It was making her exhausted and leaden. She sawed the rope against the pole. Or tried to. Her whole body felt heavy with sleep. She had to fight it. Something terrible was going to happen when he came back. She had to talk him out of it.

Sooner than expected, his form darkened the door way. The lights in the den backlit him, casting a shadow twice his height across the storage room floor. He was no longer wearing the Stetson, and he seemed larger than she remembered, but that wasn't what Alice focused on. Her eyes went to his hands. He yanked a second rope, checking that it would hold.

He walked toward her and, with shaking hands hit the rope around her neck. He was behind her, using the rope to pull her neck back against the pole. Lights ruptured behind her eyes. He was tugging too hard. She knew instinctively that he was nervous and excited. She could feel it in the eager tremble of his body. She heard the choppy panting of his breath, growing more charged, but not from exertion. From adrenaline. It made her stomach roll with terror. He was _enjoying_ this. A foreign gurgling noise filled her ears, and she realized with horror that it was her voice. The sound seemed to startle him—he swore and tugged harder.

She screamed, over and over inside herself. She screamed while the pressure built, sweeping her toward the edge of death.

He didn't want photographs. He wanted to kill her.

She would not let this place be her last memory. Closing her eyes, she went away, into the darkness.

**Leave reviews and tell me whether to keep going or not! **

**Question of the chapter:**

**Do you play any sports? If so, what do you play?**

**Answer of the chapter:**

**Yes, I play volleyball and I swim for a team in the summer.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Here is chapter one! Give me reviews and tell me how you like it! **

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

If I died it wouldn't be from hypothermia.

I decided this as I crammed a goose-down sleeping bag into the back of my Jeep Wrangler and strapped it in, along with five duffels of gear, fleece and wool blankets, silk bag liners, toe warmers, and ground mats. Satisfied nothing was going to fly out on the three-hour drive to Idlewilde, I shut the tailgate and wiped my hands on my cutoffs.

My cell phone blared Rod Stewart crooning "If you want my body," and held off answering for a moment so I could belt out the "and you think I'm sexy" part along with Rod. Across the street, Mrs. Black slammed her living room window shut. Honestly, I couldn't let a perfectly good ringtone go to waste.

"Hey, girl," Rosalie said, snapping her bubble gum through the phone, "We on schedule or what?"

"Tiny snag. Wrangler's out of room," I said with a dramatic sigh. Rosalie and I had been friends forever, but we acted more like sisters. Teasing was part of the fun. "I got the sleeping bags and gear in, but we're going to have to leave behind one of the duffels: navy with pink handles"

"You leave my bag, and you can kiss my g-ass money good-bye"

"Should've known you'd play the rich-family card"

"If you've got it, flaunt it. Anyway, you should blame all of the people getting divorced and hiring my mom. If people could kiss and make up, she'd be out of a job."

"And then you'd have to move. Far as I'm concerned, divorce rocks."

Rosalie snickered in amusement. "I just called Emmett. He hasn't stated packing yet, but he swears he's gonna meet us at Idlewilde before dark." Rosalie's family owned Idlewilde, a picturesque cabin in Grand Teton National Park, and for the next week, it was as close to civilization as we were going to get. "I told him if I have to clear bats out of the eaves, he can count on a long, chaste, spring break," Rosalie added.

"I still can't believe your parents are letting you spend spring break with your boyfriend."

"Well—"Rosalie began hesitantly.

"I knew it! There is more to the story"

"Jacob is coming along to chaperon."

"What?"

Rosalie made a gagging noise. "He's coming home for spring break and my dad is forcing him to tag along. I haven't talked to Jacob about it, but he's probably pissed. He hates it when my dad tells him what to do. Especially now that he's in college. He's going to be in a horrible mood, and I'm the one who has to put up with it."

I sat on the Jeep's bumper, my knees suddenly feeling made of sand. It heart to breathe. Just like that, Jacob's ghost was everywhere. I remembered the first time we kissed. During a game of hide-and-seek along the riverbed behind his house, he'd fingered my bra strap and shoved his tongue in my mouth while mosquitoes whined in my ears.

And I'd wasted five pages recording the event ad nauseam in my diary.

"He'll be back in town any minute," Rose said. "It suck, right? I mean you're over him, right?"

"So over him," I hope I sounded blasé.

"I don't want it to be awkward, you know?"

"Please, I haven't thought about your brother in ages." Then I blurted, "What if I keep an eye on you and Emmett? Tell your parents we don't need Jacob." The truth was, I wasn't ready to see Jacob. Maybe I could get out of the trip. Fake an illness. But it was _my_ trip. I had worked hard for this. I wasn't going to let Jacob ruin it. He'd ruined too many things already.

"They won't go for it," Rose said. "He's meeting us at Idlewilde tonight."

"Tonight? What about his gear? He won't have time to pack," I pointed out, "We've been packing for days."

"This is Jacob we are talking about. He's like half mountain man. Hold up—Emmett is on the other line. I'll call you right back."

I hung up and sprawled in the grass. _Breathe in, Breath out._ Just when I'd finally moved on, Jacob was back in my life, dragging me into the ring for round two. I could have laughed at the irony of it. He always did have to have the finally say, I though cynically.

Of course he didn't need time to prepare—he'd practically grown up hiking around Idlewilde. His gear was probably in his closet, ready at a moment's notice.

I rewound my memory several months, to autumn. Jacob was five weeks into his freshman year at Stanford when he dumped me. Over the phone. On a night when I really needed him to be there for me. I didn't even want to think about it—it hurt too much to remember how that night had played out. How it had ended.

Afterward, taking pity on me, Rosalie had uncharacteristically agreed to let me plan our upcoming senior spring break, hoping it would cheer me up. Our two closets friends, Irina and Victoria, were going to Hawaii for spring break. Rose and I had talked about spending our break with them on the beaches of Oahu, but I must have been a glutton for punishment, because I said adios to Hawaii and announced that in six months we would be backpacking the Tetons instead. If Rosalie knew why I'd chosen the Teton, she had the sensitivity not to bring it up.

I'd known Jacob's spring break would overlap ours, just like I'd know how much he loved hiking and camping in the Tetons. I'd hoped that when he heard about our trip, he'd invite himself along. I desperately wanted time with him, and to make him see me differently and regret being stupid enough to give me up.

But after months of not hearing from him, I'd finally gotten the massage. He wasn't interested in the trip, because he wasn't interested in me. He didn't want to get back together. I let go of any hope of us and my hardened heart. I was done with Jacob. Now this trip was about me.

I closed my mind to the memory and tried to think through my next steps. Jacob was coming home. After 8 months, I was going to see him, and he was going to see me. What would I say? Would it be awkward? Of course it would be awkward.

I was ashamed that my next thought was so incredibly vain: I wondered if I'd gained any weight since he'd last seen me. I didn't think so. If anything, the running and weight lifting I'd done to prepare for our trip should have sculpted my legs. I tried to cling to the idea of sexy legs, but it wasn't making me feel any better. Pretty much, I felt like throwing up. I couldn't see Jacob now. I'd thought I'd moved on, but all the pain was surging back, swelling in my chest.

I forced a few more deep breaths, composing myself, listening to the Wrangler's radio playing in the background. Not a song, but the weather report.

"…_two storm systems set to hit the southeastern Idaho. By tonight, the chance of rain will rise to ninety percent, with thunderstorms and strong winds possible."_

I perched my sunglasses on top of me head and squinted at the blue sky stretching from one horizon to the other. Not a wisp of cloud. Just the same, if rain was coming, I wanted to be on the road before it hit. Good thing we were leaving Idaho and driving ahead of the storm, in to Wyoming.

"Daddy!" I hollered, since the house windows were open.

A moment later he came to the front door. I craned my neck to look at him and put on my best little girl pout. "I need money for gas, Daddy."

"What happened to your allowance?"

"I had to buy stuff for the trip," I explained.

"Hasn't anyone ever told you money doesn't grow on trees?" he teased, observing me with a patronizing shake of his head.

I jumped up and kissed his cheek, "I really need gas money."

"Of course you do." He opened his wallet with the softest of sighs. He gave me four faded, rumpled twenties. "Don't let the gas tank drop below a quarter full, you hear? Up in the mountains, gas stations start to thin. Nothing worse than getting stranded."

I pocketed the money and smiled angelically, "Better sleep with your cell phone and a toe rope under your pillow just in case."

"Bella—"

"Only kidding, Daddy," I said giggling. "I won't get stranded."

I swung in to the Wrangler. I'd dropped the top, and the sun had done a fine job of warming my seat. Sitting taller, I checked my reflection in the rearview mirror. By the end of the summer, my hair would be almost a light brown. And I'd have added ten new freckles to my pale face. I'd inherited German genes from my father's side. Swedish from my mother's. Chance of sunburn? One hundred percent. Lifting a straw hat off the passenger seat, I squashed it on my head. But dang it all, I was barefoot.

Perfect attire for 7-Eleven

Ten minutes later, I was in the store, filling a cup with Blue Raspberry Slurpee. I drank some off the top and refilled it. Mike Newton, who was working the register, gave me the evil eye.

"Good grief," he said. "Help yourself, why don't you?"

"Since you offered," I said cheerfully and stuck the straw between my lips once more before refilling.

"I'm supposed to keep law and order in here."

"_Two_ little sips, Mike. Nobody's going bankrupt over two sips. When did you become such a crack?"

"Since you started pilfering Slurpee and pretending you can't operate the gas pump so I have to come out and fill your tank for you. Every time you pull in, I want to kick myself."

I wrinkled my nose, "I don't want my hands smelling like gas. And you are particularly good at pumping gas, Mike," I added with a flattering smile.

"Practice makes perfect," he muttered.

I padded barefoot through the aisles looking for Twizzlers and Cheeze-Its, thinking that if Mike didn't like pumping gas, he really should get another job, when the front door chimed. I didn't even hear the footsteps before a pair of warm, calloused hands slipped over my eyes from behind.

"Guess who"

His familiar woodsy smell seemed to freeze me. I prayed he couldn't feel my face heat up under his touch. For the longest moment, I couldn't find my voice. It seemed to shrink inside me, bouncing pitifully down my throat.

"Give me a clue," I said, hoping I sounded bored. Or mildly annoyed. Anything but hurt.

"Tall, tan, perfect teeth." His smooth, teasing voice after all of these months. It sounded familiar and foreign at the same time. Feeling him so close made me dizzy from the nerves. I was afraid I'd start yelling at him, right here in the 7-Eleven. If I let him get too close, I was afraid I might _not _yell at him. And I wanted to yell—I'd spent eight months practicing what I'd say and I was ready to let it out.

"In that case, I'll have to go with…. Jacob Hale," I sounded carelessly polite. I was sure of it. And I couldn't think of a bigger relief.

Jake came around me and leaned an elbow on the aisle's endcap. He gave me a wolfish smile. He had nailed the whole devilishly charming thing years ago. I'd been a sucker for it back then, but I was

Ignoring his handsome face, I gave him a bored once-over. By the looks of it he let his pillow style his hair this morning. It was a bit longer than I remembered. On the hottest days of track practice, when sweat dripped down his face, his hair had turned pitch black. The memory made something inside me ache. I shoved aside my nostalgia and eyed Jacob with cool detachment. "What do you want?"

Without asking, he bent my Slurpee straw sideways and helped himself. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. "Tell me about this camping trip."

I yanked my Slurpee out of his reach, "_backpacking _trip," I felt it was important to make that distinction. Anyone could camp, backpacking required skill and moxie.

"Got everything you need?" he went on.

"And a few wants, too," I shrugged, "hey a girl needs her lip gloss."

"Let's be honest, Rosalie will never let you leave the cabin. She's terrified of fresh air. And you can't say no to her," he tapped his head wisely, "I know you girls."

I gave him a look of indignation. "We're backpacking for one full week. Our route is forty miles long," so maybe it was a _teensy_ exaggeration. In fact, Rose had agreed to no more than two miles of hiking per day, and had insisted we hike circles around Idlewilde, in case we needed amenities or cable TV. While I'd never truly expected to backpack the entire week, I had planned to leave Rose and Emmett at the cabin for a day and trek off on my own. I wanted to put my training up to the test. Obviously now that Jacob was joining us, he was going to figure out about our true plans soon enough, but at the moment my biggest priority was impressing him. Li was sick of forever insinuating that he had no reason to take me seriously. I could always deal with any flak he might give me later by insisting that I'd wanted to backpack the whole week and Rose was holding me back—Jake wouldn't find that excuse farfetched.

"You do know that several of the hiking trails are still covered in snow right? And the lodges haven't opened for the season, so the people will be sparse. Even the Jenny Lake Ranger station is closed- your safety is your own responsibility, they don't guarantee rescue."

I gazed at him with round eyes. "You don't say! I'm not going into this completely in the dark Jacob," I snapped. "I've got it covered, we will be fine."

He rubbed his mouth, hiding a smile, his thoughts perfectly clear.

"You really don't think I can do it," I said, trying not to sound stung.

"I just think you two will have more fun if you go to Lava Hot Springs. You can soak in the mineral pools"

"I've been training for this trip all year," I argued, "You don't know how hard I've worked, because you haven't been around. You haven't seen me in eight months. I'm not the same girl left behind. You don't know me anymore."

"Point made," flipping up his palms to show it was an innocent suggestion. "But why Idlewilde? There's nothing to do up there. You and Rose will be bored after the first night."

I didn't know why Jake was so set on dissuading me. He loved Idlewilde. And he knew as well as I did there was plenty to do there. Then it hit me. This wasn't about me or Idlewilde. He didn't want to tag along. He didn't want to spend time with me. If he got me to drop the trip, his dad wouldn't force him join us, and he'd get his spring back.

Digesting the painful realization, I cleared my throat, "How much are your parents paying you to tag along?"

He made a big deal of looking me over in mock critical evaluation, "Clearly not enough."

So that's how we were going to play this. A little meaningless here, a little banter there. In my imagination, I took a black marker and drew a big X through Jacob's name.

"Just so we are clear, I argued against having you come. You and me together again? Talk about uncomfortable." It had sounded better in my head. Hanging between us, the words sounded jealous and petty and mean—exactly like an ex-girlfriend would sound. I didn't want him to know I was still hurting, not when he was all smiles and winks.

"That so? Well, this chaperon just cut your curfew by an hour," he jested.

I nodded beyond the plate-glass window toward the four-wheel-drive BMW X5 parked outside. "Yours?" I guessed "Yet another gift from your parents, or do you actually do more than chase girls at Stanford, such as hold down a respectable job?"

"My job is chasing girls." An odious grin. "But I wouldn't call it respectable."

"No serious girlfriend then?" I couldn't bring myself to look at him, but I felt immense pride in my oh-so-casual tone. I told myself I didn't care about his answer one way or another. In fact, if he'd moved on, it was yet another flashing green light telling me I was free to do the same.

He poked me. "Why? You got a boyfriend?"

"Of course."

"Yeah, right," he snorted. "Rosalie would have told me."

I stood my ground, arching my eyebrows smugly. "Believe it or not, there are some things Rosalie doesn't tell you."

His eyebrows furrowed. "Who is he?" he asked warily, and I could tell he was thinking of buying my story.

The best way to remedy a lie is not to tell another lie. But I did anyway.

"You don't know him. He's new in town."

He shook his head. "Too convenient. I don't believe you." But his tone suggested he might.

I felt an overpowering urge to prove to him that I moved on—with or without closer, and in this case, without. And not only that, but that I'd moved on to a much, much better guy. While Jacob was busy being an oily womanizer in California, I was not—I repeat, not—moping around and pining over old photographs of him.

"That's him. See for yourself," I said without thinking.

Jacob's eyes followed my gesture outside to the red Volkswagen Jetta parked at the nearest gas pump. The guy pumping gas into the Jetta was a couple years older than me. He had gorgeous coppery brown hair and it showed the symmetry of his pale face. With the sun at his back, shadows marked the depressions beneath his cheekbones. I couldn't tell the colors of his eyes, but I hoped they were green. For no other reason than Jacob's were a dark brown. The guy had straight, sculpted shoulders, that made me think _swimmer_ and I had never seen him before.

"That guy? Saw him on my way in. Plates are Wyoming." Jacob sounded unconvinced.

"Like I said, new in town."

"He's older than you."

I looked at him meaningfully. "And?"

The door chimed and my fake boyfriend strolled inside. He was even better looking up close. And his eyes were most definitely green—a bright green that reminded me of leaves on trees. He reached into his back pocket for his wallet, and I grabbed Jacob's arm and hauled him behind a shelf stacked with Fig Newtons and Oreos.

"What are we doing?" Jacob asked, staring at me like I'd sprouted two heads.

"I don't want him to see me," I whispered.

"Because he's not really your boyfriend right?"

"That's not it. Its—"

Where was a third lie when I needed it?

Jake smiled devilishly, and the next thing I knew, he had shaken off my hand and was ambling toward the front counter. I trapped a groan between my teeth and watched, peering between the two top shelves.

"Hey," Jacob said affably to the guy, who wore a buffalo-check flannel shirt, jeans, and hiking boots.

With barely a glance up, the guy tipped his head in acknowledgment.

"I hear you're dating my ex," Jacob said, and there was something undeniably wicked in his tone. He was giving me a taste of my own medicine, and he knew it.

Jacob's remark drew the full attention of the guy. He studied Jacob curiously, and I felt my cheeks grow even hotter.

"You know, your girlfriend," Jacob prodded. "Hiding behind the cookies over there."

He was pointing at me.

I straightened, my head surfacing above the top shelf. I smoothed my shirt and opened my mouth, but there were no words, no words at all.

The guy looked beyond Jacob to me. Our gazes locked briefly and I mouthed a humiliated _I can explain…_ But I couldn't.

Then something unexpected happened. The guy looked squarely at Jacob, and said in an easy unruffled voice, "Yeah my girlfriend, Bella."

I flinched. _He knew my name._

Jacob appeared similarly startled, "Oh. Hey. Sorry man. I though—"He stuck out his hand. "I'm Jacob Black," he stammered awkwardly. "Bella's….ex."

"Mason"

Mason eyed Jacob's outstretched hand but didn't take it. He placed three twenties on the counter for Mike Newton. Then he crossed to me and kissed my cheek. It was a no-frills kiss, but my pulse thrummed all the same. He smile, and it was a warm sexy smile. "I see you haven't gotten over your Slurpee addiction, Bella."

Slowly I smiled back. If he was game for this, then so was I. "I saw you pull in, and needed something to cool me off." I fanned myself while gazing up at him adoringly. His eyes crinkled at the edges. I was pretty sure he was laughing on the inside.

I said, "You should stop by my house later, Mason, because I bought a new lip gloss that could use a test run…."

"Ah. Kissing game?" he said without missing a beat.

I shot a covert glance at Jacob to gauge how he was handling the flirting. Much to my enjoyment, he looked like he caught a mouthful of lemon peel.

"You know me—always spicing things up," I returned silkily.

Jacob cleared his throat and folded his arms over his chest. "Shouldn't you be heading out, Bella? You really should get to the cabin before dark."

Something undecipherable clouded Mason's eyes. "Going camping?" he asked me.

"Backpacking," I corrected. "In Wyoming—the Tetons. I was going to tell you, but…" Ack! What possible reason could I come up with for not telling my boyfriend about this trip? So close to pulling this off and I was going to blow it.

"But it seemed unimportant, since I'm heading out of town too, and won't be able to spend the week together anyway," Mason finished easily.

I met his eyes again. Good-looking, quick on his feet, game for anything—even pretending to be the boyfriend of a girl he'd never met—and a frighteningly good liar. Who was this guy? "Yes, exactly," I murmured.

Jacob cocked his head at me. "When we were together, did I ever take off for the week without telling you?"

You took off for eight months, I thought snidely. And broke up with me on the most important night of my life. Jesus said forgive, but there is always room for an exception.

I said to Mason, "By the way, Daddy wants to have you over for dinner next week"

Jacob made a strangled noise. Once, when he'd brought me home five minutes after curfew, we'd pulled into the driveway to see my dad standing on the porch tapping a golf driver in his palm. He'd marched over and smacked it against Jacob's black Ford F-150, leaving a nice round crater. "Next time you bring her home late, I'll aim for the headlights," he'd said. "Don't be stupid enough to need three warnings."

He hadn't meant it, not really. Since I was the baby of the family and the only girl, my dad had a grouchy streak when it came to boys I dated. But actually, my dad was a loveable old bear. Still, Jacob never broke curfew again.

And never once had he been allowed to come to dinner.

"Tell your dad I could use a few more fly-fishing tips," Mason said, continuing to hold up our charade. Miraculously, he'd also correctly guessed my dad's favorite sport. This entire encounter was starting to fell…eerie. "Oh and one more thing, Bella." He combed his hand through my hair, pushing it off my shoulder. I held perfectly still, his touch freezing my breath inside me. "Be safe. Mountains are dangerous this time of year."

I gawked with amazement at him until he pulled out of the gas station and drove off.

He knew my name. He saved my butt. _He knew my name._

Granted, it was printed on the chest of my purple orchestra camp tee, but Jacob hadn't noticed that.

"I thought you were lying," Jacob told me, looking stupefied.

I handed Mike a five for my Slurpee and pocketed the change. "As satisfying as this conversation as been," I told Jacob, "I should probably go do something more productive. Like key that Bimmer of yours. It's too pretty."

"Just like me?" he waggled his brows hopefully.

I filled my cheeks with Slurpee, miming that I intended to spit it at him. He jumped clear, and to my satisfaction, erased his cocky grin at long last.

"See you tonight at Idlewilde," Jacob called after me as I pushed out of the store.

By way of answer, I gave him a thumbs-up.

My middle finger would have been too obvious.

As I passed Jacob's BMW in the parking lot, I noticed the doors were unlocked. I glanced back to make sure he wasn't watching, then made a split second decision. Climbing through the passenger door, I knocked his rearview mirror out of alignment, dribbled Slurpee on the floor mats, and stole his vintage CD collection from the glove box. It was a petty thing to do, but it made me feel a smidge better.

I'd give the CDs back tonight—after I'd scratched a few of his favorites.


End file.
